


SGA goes to Johns Hopkins and applies for a grant

by kisahawklin



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe, M/M, Take your fandom to work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-11
Updated: 2009-11-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:25:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kisahawklin/pseuds/kisahawklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What it says on the tin. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	SGA goes to Johns Hopkins and applies for a grant

**Author's Note:**

> So, I think about Rodney every single time someone mentions our APL (applied physics lab) that does top secret work and has major DOD and DARPA funding. John's a little tougher to shoehorn into my workspace, and I got through 1500 words of boring-ass 'this is what I do in a day' and 'aren't those PIs funny/exasperating/amazing/awful' before I realized there is no plot to be had here. It's more than a scene, but seriously, I don't have the interest to try and make this into any more than it is.
> 
> List of Acronyms:  
> APL: Applied Physics Lab (at Johns Hopkins University)  
> DOD: Deparment of Defense (US)  
> DARPA: Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (US) (does high end hush hush top secret DOD research)  
> IDC: Indirect Cost rate (the amount of overhead an institution can charge on top of the costs to do the research - keeps the lights on, pays my John's paycheck, etc)  
> PI: Principal Investigator (or Project Investigator) (The doc doing the research)  
> NASA: National Aeronautics and Space Administration (US)  
> JHU: Johns Hopkins University (yes, I really work there)  
> MIT: Massachusetts Institute of Technology  
> NIH: National Institutes of Health (US)  
> R01: An award mechanism that the NIH uses to give money to investigators  
> NGA: Notice of Grant Award (this acronym usually relates specifically to NIH's award documents, though we use it generally to mean awards from any federal agency)

"Hey Lorne," John calls over his shoulder, pitching his voice just loud enough to carry to the cubicle next door, "what's the APL IDC rate?"

"Hell if I know," Lorne calls back. "Ask Caldwell. He does most of the APL stuff."

"Screw that," John mutters, and pulls up the JHU website. He searches for APL, and then Applied Physics Lab, and when he gets really desperate after ten minutes, he just googles Dr. Rodney McKay. That's a mistake.

"Hey Cadman," John calls, and waits for her to hop out of her seat and come over. She doesn't do the yelling across the office since Sumner came in the office just as she was rattling off the insurance rates for Mitchell from six cubicles away and glared at her. She comes over and hops up on the back half of his cubicle desk, grabbing a sucker out of his pencil holder.

"What?" 

"Take a look at this guy," John says. "He's working with my PI on some weird-ass NASA proposal."

Cadman leans forward and busts out laughing, loud enough to bring Mitchell over. "Who the hell is that?" Mitchell asks, laughing at the picture of the guy cradling some award like it's his puppy. "He's a little creepy."

"Dr. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD," John says. "Works in APL, some top secret DARPA funding or something."

"Two PhDs?" Lorne asks, finally coming over to join the party. "Does he put them both on his applications?"

"Probably," John answers, and clicks through some of the articles. McKay looks like he's doing interesting work, but most of it's top secret, so John can't even look at the grant applications.

"Who's he working with?" Mitchell asks, taking over the mouse and going to the pictures. There are several more, a few from presenting papers, some of accepting awards, one of him with his arm around a cute redhead. 

"Hey," Cadman says, whapping Mitchell on the arm. "I know her! That's Katie Brown - she works in Beckett's lab."

"Oh, that's who he's working with," John says. "Beckett's putting in a NASA grant, some multi-PI project with McKay in APL and some guy at MIT."

"Huh," Mitchell says. "Sounds like a pain in the ass. When's it due?"

"Two days," John says. "Got it this morning, and it's a mess."

"That's the rule," Lorne says, grabbing a sucker and heading back for his cubicle. "The closer to the deadline, the worse the application looks. You should be glad it didn't show up the morning it's due."

"Yeah, yeah," John says, shooing them away from his desk. "I've got a few other things to do too, so you can just go get coffee without me."

Cadman shrugs and drags Mitchell away, tossing a 'cranky!' over her shoulder. John goes back to trying to figure out the IDC rate for APL; it shouldn't be this damn difficult.

He gives up a few minutes later and shoots off an email to Marie, Beckett's research nurse, and puts the application away for a while to finish up two sub applications and review the new instructions for the DOD applications he's going to be buried in next week.

Marie emails back that she can't seem to get the IDC rate out of the PI, and he's touchy to boot. She asks if there's somewhere else she can try, but John's not about to make her hunt around for something he can probably get from Caldwell. _Never mind_ , he emails back, _I'll take care of it._

***

Caldwell's door is closed but John just knocks and steps in, hoping to catch him playing solitaire like he did the last time he was on a conference call for a negotiation. He looks up from the ten or so pages of contract language spread out on his desk. "What can I do for you, Sheppard?"

"Just wondering about APL," John says. "I know they have crazy IDC rates, but they've got to have an agreement we can access. It's public information, right?"

"Well," Caldwell starts. "It's complicated. They do have an IDC agreement, but not like ours. And they have a lot of different rates based on the work they're doing, and more ways to get around the agreement than ways to stick with it."

"Great," John says, and sighs. "That's really helpful."

"Pretty much," Caldwell says as John turns to walk out, "you take what they give you and trust them to know."

"Sure," John says, shaking his head. _No way in hell._

***

John looks McKay up in the directory and stares at the not-quite-unflattering picture for a while. McKay's not photogenic, really, but his personality practically leaps out of the picture and bites you.

He takes a deep breath and picks up the phone. 

***

"Hi, Dr. McKay, this is John Sheppard in the Office of Research Administration. I'm working on your grant with Dr. Beckett, and I'm having a few issues with your budget. There are a couple of exclusions that don't seem to be following the rules, and I can't find any version of your IDC agreement, so if you could call me back at 7-3754, I'd really appreciate it. I'd like to get this application back to you for corrections, and I'll be here until..." John looks back at his inbox just as Stackhouse drops several more folders in it and sighs. "At least 6:30, probably later, so if you could call when you get this, that'd be great."

***

John puts down the Stand Up 2 Cancer Agreement and rubs his eyes. Most of the language is fine, and then they'll try and sneak some random thing in about paying attorney's fees up front. He tags the paragraph for General Counsel and shuts the file. He needs to do something else before his brain explodes.

He's gauging the height of his stack of NIH awards to see if he can knock a couple of inches off before he goes home when someone knocks so loud it sounds like he's trying to huff and puff and blow the door down. Hammond pokes his head out of his office. "What in god's name was that?"

"I'll get it," John says, and grabs his keys. "Are you here?"

"No way," says Hammond, pulling his head back in and closing the door.

"Chicken," John shouts after him and goes to check the door. Pacing in front of it is Dr. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD. When he catches sight of John, he starts talking a mile a minute.

"Are you John Sheppard?" he asks. "Is he here? I need to speak to him _immediately_."

John looks at his watch pointedly. It's 7:45, which would be ridiculous if it wasn't the week leading up to R01 resubmissions and renewals.

"I was _busy_ ," McKay says. "Some of us are doing groundbreaking science! We don't have time for administrative detail work!"

John rolls his eyes. This guy would be a hoot if it wasn't ridiculously late and John's brain already been softened to a jello-like consistency. 

He opens the door and steps out. "John Sheppard," he says. "Dr. McKay, I presume?"

"Of course," McKay says as John walks past. "Wait, where are you going?"

John pulls the door shut and makes sure it's locked. "I need a coke," John says. "Vending machines are on the fourth floor."

***

McKay, like most PIs, doesn't know the first thing about the administrative side of his grants. 

"No, you can't budget coffee," John says, closing his eyes before he strains them by rolling them too hard, "and it's wouldn't be excluded from IDC if it _was_ an allowable cost."

"Coffee is necessary to this research," McKay insists, and John's about to bang his head into the table when McKay's lopsided smirk sinks in.

"Oh my god," John says, "that is _it_ , I am going home, and you can call me tomorrow after I've had time to drink myself to death."

"Oh no," McKay says, grabbing John's elbow and hauling him out of the chair. "You're not drinking yourself to death until this application goes in. But I'll bring scotch on Friday, and we can obliterate our brain cells together."

***

John's got his headphones in, banging through his NIH awards, listening to his random mix of decent music. He's gone through twenty so far; there's maybe twenty more left in the stack, and he'll only have to stay to six to get them all done. Something catches his attention and he turns to see if Lorne walked by, nearly jumping out of his chair when he sees McKay standing next to his cubicle, talking away, completely oblivious to the fact that John can't hear him.

"Jesus, way to sneak up on a guy," John says, pulling his earphones out of his ears. 

"Oh, sorry, was I interrupting your music time?" McKay sneers, nodding at the headphones blaring tinny Drowning Pool out of the earbuds.

"It helps with some of the tedious work," John says, and pauses the music. "What can I do for you, Dr. McKay?"

"Rodney, please," McKay says, and oh, there is _no way_ that is ever going to happen. "I was actually stopping by to say thanks." He hands over a bottle of Talisker scotch. It's twenty-five years old and over a hundred proof, and John's pretty sure it costs upward of a hundred dollars.

"I can't accept that," he says, flipping through his folders, sorting and organizing so he can hit the ground running next week.

"Of course you can," McKay says, knocking the bottle into his arm. "Besides I'm drinking it with you, so it's not like you have to say you got an entire bottle of scotch. You can only have as much as you can drink."

John shakes his head. "Generous, Dr. McKay, that's real generous."

"Oh come on," McKay says. "I'm trying to ask you out here, can you please go with it?"

"All right," John says, stacking the NGAs and flipping his light off. "Let's get out of here."


End file.
